


A Synthetic Departure

by The_Muses_of_Mars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 17:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10168373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Muses_of_Mars/pseuds/The_Muses_of_Mars
Summary: One evening Ignis goes to the store to do some shopping and never comes back. The three remaining Chocobros speculate about what might have happened to their bespectacled tactician, but the truth is stranger than fiction.





	1. Abduction

**Author's Note:**

> Ignis Scientia Appreciation Society Prompt, Week 2: While spending some time looking at the stars one night, Ignis has an unexpected guest join him.

Standing amidst the pleasant hum of shoppers and hawkers, savoring the delicious aroma of Lestallum’s famous skewers and feeling the cool breeze of a tropical night ruffling his ash blond hair, Ignis Scientia was almost reluctant to return to the Leville. He had left the four-star hotel where Prince Noctis’s entourage was spending the night just over an hour ago so he could do some shopping at the farmer’s market and pick up some ingredients for their journey. He had wanted to ensure they all had a nutritious breakfast and plenty of rations in the days to come, since it might be a while before they happened upon a grocer. Besides, there was just no beating the Lestallum market’s freshness and competitive pricing.

They were planning to get back on the road at dawn’s first light, but it was such a pleasant evening Ignis decided to take a bit of a stroll along the city streets and make his way back to the Leville in a roundabout way. To be honest, he was enjoying having a little time to himself. It was such a rare occurrence that he had even left his cell phone back at the hotel room with the intent of thoroughly relishing these brief moments of privacy. He felt confident another fifteen or twenty minutes away would be innocuous; Gladio and Prompto were there to protect the prince, after all. What could be the harm?

Adopting a leisurely pace, Ignis meandered away from the market. Being something of a resort town, Lestallum’s streets were filled with mingling tourists and locals at all hours. The sounds of laughter and conversation spilled out of the open doors of a dozen different ritzy restaurants, casual pubs, and kitschy tourist shops, and people crowded the streets and alleyways alike to socialize. The air was filled with the lively music of steel drums, and Ignis found his feet stepping to the beat of their own accord. The sight of so many carefree spirits brought a rare smile to the ordinarily serious man’s handsome face. It was relaxing to be among common folk and to blend in.

He had only wandered for a block or so in the opposite direction of the Leville when Ignis suddenly stopped cold in his tracks. Dead ahead, leaning against one of the many steam pipes that littered the winding Lestallum alleys, was a tall and troublingly familiar figure. He made for a daunting display, not least of all due to his shining crown of stark white hair.

Ravus Nox Fleuret met Ignis’s surprised emerald eyes with a steely gaze that caused the bespectacled man to inhale a sharp, startled breath. There was a pause as they stared at one another, then Ignis watched with a slowly simmering rage as the Imperial lackey’s silver gauntlet came to rest on what he immediately recognized was King Regis’s sword.

As Ignis’s blood began to boil, Ravus unexpectedly smiled, casting a taunting smirk over his shoulder before he spun on his heel and disappeared around the corner.

Ignis warred with himself for only an instant before deciding what had to be done. Such an arrogant offense could not go unchallenged, and if there was any chance he could recover the late king’s heirloom and return it to Prince Noctis, he had to take it. There was no time to waste.

He was unaccompanied and dressed only in slacks and a button-up dress shirt, but at the very least he could give Ravus a piece of his mind, Ignis thought, hefting his grocery bag onto his hip and storming after the Imperial traitor. He had no weapons on hand, but hoped he could look at least a little intimidating, even with a sack of produce hugged to his side.

But the usually brilliant tactician had made a grave miscalculation in failing to consider that, unlike himself, Ravus might _not_ be alone.

Ignis stepped out of the alley and onto a wide, deserted street—deserted, save for the Imperial ship hovering in the air just a few yards away. He took a startled step back as the ship lowered a ramp to the ground, then watched with dismay as Ravus climbed aboard, his boots stomping up the metallic incline and his cape billowing behind him haughtily. Ignis realized with bitter disappointment he would not be retrieving the Sword of the Father tonight.

From the mouth of the ship, Ravus turned and gazed down at Ignis. His expression was difficult to judge. Was it pity? Indifference? He wasn’t near enough to see clearly, even by the glowing lights of the nearby power plant. But Ignis had a creeping thought that Ravus was not actually looking _at_ him, but rather _behind_ him.

Before Ignis could turn around and check, someone unexpectedly grabbed hold of him. He dropped his grocery bag as his arm was wrenched behind his back and twisted at an excruciating angle that sent fire shooting along every nerve from his shoulder to his wrist. Ignis let out an agonized cry and arched his back, paralyzed with pain. He gritted his teeth and prepared to draw a deep breath and to shout out for help—his only possible recourse for now—but suddenly found a thick, white cloth pressed to his face, covering both his nose and mouth and knocking his glasses askew.

He could not suppress a gasp and inhaled the toxic fumes of some pungent chemical. Whatever it was, it was potent, and while he was locked in the enemy’s iron grip he could not even struggle to free himself. Ignis have never anticipated this could be a trap. But he had no chance to react before his vision began darkening and he felt his consciousness slipping away.

The last thing Ignis saw was a perfectly good Lucian tomato spilling out of the brown paper grocery bag and rolling across the concrete. _Such a waste…_ he thought sadly as he felt his knees giving way.

And the last thing he heard was an unaffected female voice apologizing. “Sorry about this, Specs,” Aranea intoned, not sounding very sorry at all. “Orders are orders.”

Then he was out.

 

When Ignis awoke it was to a cold, dark cell and a pounding headache. He had been propped up on a hard, metal bench, and by the humming and vibrating of the room he knew he must now be aboard the Imperial airship.

As he rubbed his throbbing temples, he realized he was no longer wearing his glasses, which only made the situation all the more frustrating. But at least he wasn’t bound or gagged, he realized as he scratched the back of his neck freely. That gave him at least some chance to get free of his captors.

There was a faint glow to Ignis’s left—a window. It was an overcast evening, the chill of the wind billowing into his cell a sure promise of precipitation. He reached up from his seat and felt out the cold metal of thick iron bars. There was no bending or breaking them, and they weren’t even far enough apart to put his hand through. Well, there was no escaping that way.

Ignis braced his hand against the wall behind him and carefully rose up from the bench, pausing for a moment to find his feet while he adjusted to the wind’s turbulence. The inside of the ship was as black as its outside, and there was no light in the room save for the muted moonlight pouring in through the barred window, and without his glasses it was almost impossible to make out the size and shape of his holding just by looking. So he slowly started walking, running his palm along the metal wall as he took one step…two steps…three steps…and no more. He had hit another wall.

Turning, Ignis started forward again. This time he detected a doorway with his hand. As soon as he discovered the size of his entire prison was about on par with the size of the bathrooms in some of the smaller accommodations the prince’s party had stayed in, with two metal benches and no other furnishings or trimmings, he went back to it to explore further. The door had no handle or latch—at least, not on the inside—and even its hinges were apparently on the outside. Ignis leaned against it hard to see if he might move it by force, but quickly determined that to be an impossibility. There was a small grate just below his eye level, probably a window his jailer could open from the outside to look within. Since there was no hope of breaking out this way, either, Ignis returned to the metal bench he’d woken on to wait. Another opportunity would eventually present itself; he just had to be patient.

Hugging himself for warmth in the chilly interior of his confines, Ignis stared through the iron bars of the ship’s window up at the sky. It was dark, but somewhere beyond those rainclouds the stars were shining. Somewhere down below, Prince Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto could see that same faint glow. The thought gave him hope. All was not yet lost.

Unaware he had even begun to doze, Ignis was startled awake by the shrieking sound of his cell door opening. Despite the darkness of the small room and the fact that his glasses had gone missing, enough light filtered in from the hall beyond for him to make out the silhouette standing in the open doorway. He had seen it often enough in his twenty-three years, but still he hardly dared to believe his eyes.

In two small steps, King Regis had joined him in the cell.

“Your—your Majesty!” Ignis gasped.

Wordlessly, whoever guarded the prison from its well-lit exterior slammed the metal door shut with a resounding clang. Ignis was now alone with the King of Lucis.

The advisor rose shakily to his feet. He couldn’t seem to close his gaping mouth, he was so shocked. The room was spinning, and not just because it was in the air. “H-how is this possible?” he asked breathlessly. “Your death was reported in all the papers, on the radio… It was in all the news broadcasts…”

“I suppose it’s just as well.” Regis shambled closer with an unsteady gait and sank down onto the hard metal bench across from him. “I was taken from Insomnia when the Empire attacked and took the Crystal. I guess they figured I’m more good to them alive than dead, at least for a little longer. Or until they have Noct.” He looked up at the other man. “Ignis,” the king said hoarsely, “where is my son?”

“Safe, Your Majesty,” Ignis reassured him quickly. He fell back down into his own seat and tried to regain his composure. “He’s with Gladio and Prompto, at the Leville in Lestallum.”

“And you?” King Regis asked warily. “How is it you came to be abducted by these vultures? Was there a battle? The ship only seemed to hover in the air and wait… I assumed it was simply refueling…”

Ignis scratched the back of his neck abashedly as he admitted, “It may well have been, Your Majesty. I had separated from the group to…to do some shopping at the market.” He felt a pang when he thought of those beautiful vegetables and wheats lying on the street now for the vermin to pick at. “I—I was foolish to have gone out on my own, without so much as a cell phone, let alone a dagger. I regret to confess I made for an easy target. I fell right into their trap. I was careless. I failed my duty.”

The king sighed heavily and looked away. Both men were silent for a time, then King Regis changed the subject. “How is Noctis?” he asked, sounding equally hopeful and nervous.

“He is doing well, Your Majesty. I mean,” Ignis amended, “he took the news as hard as you’d expect. None of us had anticipated the Crown City would be overcome, that you would be— When Prince Noctis heard you had been killed, he was beside himself.”

“He was angry?” Regis guessed.

“Well, yes.” Ignis rubbed of his neck. “He was upset you sent him away, that he couldn’t be there at your side. He’s young, Majesty, and—if I may say—a little spoiled…”

Regis burst out in sudden laughter that ended in a coughing fit.

“But he loved—loves you,” Ignis continued when the other man had settled down. “He’s had to grow up rather quickly, and he’s becoming a man you would be proud of. But you’ll discover that for yourself, Your Majesty; when we get out of here and he sees you’re alive and well, I just know he’ll be—”

King Regis’s apparent apathy caused Ignis to falter into silence. The king’s head was bowed, and if Ignis didn’t know better, he would think the man didn’t want to reunite with his only child. But that surely was not the case, so the alternative was that the prospect of doing so was so remote it was not worth the pain of even considering.

“King Regis,” Ignis dared to ask, “where are they taking us?”

“To Gralea…or so I’m told.” Regis leaned back against the wall behind him, his head striking the metal audibly. He didn’t seem to notice.

The tactician frowned deeply. “To the Imperial capital?” he gasped. “For what purpose? To what end?”

“This is a convoy ship, filled with prisoners like you and me. It’s taking us to Niflheim, where we will be assimilated into the Imperial army.”

“A-assimilated?” Ignis repeated in disgust. “Your Majesty, do you mean we’re to be mechanized into those—those _things_ the Empire uses as cannon fodder?!” He leapt to his feet. “Then there’s not an instant to lose! We’re both capable fighters. We just need to get our hands on some weapons. When the guard returns and opens the cell, if you’re waiting in the entry and I’m crouched in the corner in the shadows, we might just be able to take him by surprise.”

The king clearly did not share his enthusiasm. He just shook his head slowly, seeming more tired than Ignis had ever seen him before. “It’s too late for that,” Regis said weakly. “They’ve already implemented phase one. There’s no reversing the process now.”

Ignis did not like the king’s tone, so devoid of hope or any emotion. He felt his own energy draining and sat back down as if in slow motion. He was afraid of the answer, but asked, “Phase one of what, Sire?”

As if in reply, the clouds parted in the sky, and the full radiance of the moon and her stars shone their resplendent light into the small room.

With this newfound illumination, Ignis did not need his glasses to see the man sitting across from him, so close their knees almost touched. He saw that the king’s hair, once black like Noct’s but beginning to gray, was now nearly as white as Ravus’s. His eyes were dull and yellowed, and his skin was so thin it was nearly translucent, dark purple veins visible beneath its filmy sheen.

Ignis gripped the sharp edges of the metal bench so fiercely he cut his hands open. “No…!” he choked.

“That spot that’s been irritating you, at the base of your skull…”

His eyes wide with alarm, Ignis reached up and brushed his fingertips over the small bump on the back of his neck, the one that had been itching since he awoke.

The king nodded knowingly. “The first injection. It begins to break down the human cells, preparing the body to receive the initial strands of daemon DNA.”

“What…?” Ignis felt the weight of the room pressing inward, stealing his breath and threatening to crush him.

He didn’t hear the rest of His Majesty’s explanation over the roaring sound in his own ears, the rush of blood pumping hard as fear gave way to panic. King Regis was no biologist, as he himself admitted, but from what he’d gathered, they were already in the process of being transformed. The humans aboard the Imperial ship would be taken to the Gralea science station where they would receive a series of fourteen additional injections, infused with Daemon cells that would corrupt their own and eventually take over. And even were they not presently caged like animals and at the Empire’s mercy, the injections they had already received would continue to break down the structure of their own DNA, to erode away what it was that made them human. Even without the full course of shots, there was no hope. They would die. And if they completed the process, they would have no humanity left; they would be soulless entities, biological weapons known as “empties,” or M.T.s: Magitek Troopers.


	2. Revenge

THREE MONTHS LATER…

 

“Where is that kid?” Gladio muttered to himself. His heavily inked arms were folded over his massive chest as he leaned back against the gas pump with a dark scowl. Prompto had been sitting in the back seat of the Regalia, silent and still, for almost ten minutes while they waited for Noct to emerge from the gas station convenience store. When the prince finally appeared, he was carrying a bottle of water and nothing more.

Gladio heaved a sigh, gearing up to complain, when Prompto cut him off with a soft whisper. “Don’t,” was all the blond boy asked, voicing a plea so pained Gladio couldn’t ignore it.

So instead, the prince’s bodyguard called out, “Hey, Noct! Why don’t you take the wheel for a while, huh? Give me a break.” He lifted the keys, preparing to toss them across the hood at the kid.

“Nu-uh,” Noctis said with finality, opening the front passenger-side door. “That’s not my seat.”

“Oh, like it’s supposed to be _mine?”_ Gladio shot back at him.

“Guys…” Prompto whined, sounding close to tears. “Can we please not do this now? _Please.”_

Noctis climbed into the passenger seat and shut his door, then fastened his seatbelt without another word. Gladio relented for the moment and claimed the driver’s seat, but the veins in his forehead were straining as he struggled to control his rage.

This was an old argument; since Ignis’s disappearance, Noctis had refused to sit in the driver’s seat, or to sit behind it. He didn’t say why, but in all honesty he couldn’t take not watching the back of Ignis’s head or exchanging glances with him in the rearview mirror the way they used to. Now the prince just sat up front next to Gladio, staring out his window so he wouldn’t have to deal with anything. And Prompto had been relegated to the back seat, demoted from radio DJ to just another passenger.

Gladio jammed the key into the ignition and started up the Regalia. He pulled out of the gas station lot and swerved out onto the main highway, smashing the gas pedal and quickly picking up speed. They still had a lot of ground to cover today, and if he was the one doing the driving, he was going to drive any way he gods-be-damned pleased.

 

That night the three men made camp and ate another unsatisfying dinner of beef jerky, trail mix, and something Gladio tried (and failed) to pass off as stew. Watching Noct pick at his bowl with a disgusted expression, the way he lifted his spoon and strained it over and over, was the last straw.

“If you think you can do any better, then by all means!” Gladio barked, standing up and slamming the lid down on the pot hanging over the fire pit.

Noctis and Prompto both looked up at him sharply. “I didn’t say anything!” Noct retorted defensively.

“You didn’t have to,” Gladio roared. “You’re thinking it so loudly I can hear what’s on your mind. You can’t just appreciate the effort and suck it up, can you? Always moping around, always bitching—”

“Hey!” Noct yelled back at him, setting his bowl down on the ground with a clatter as he rose to the challenge. “Neither of us said a word about that stew. The only person I see moping around and bitching is you!”

“Is that so, _Highness?”_ Gladio’s nostrils flared as his eyes flashed dangerously with anger. “You know what your problem is? You’re spoiled. You always have been, and Ignis let you get away with it because he had to, to keep his job. You’ve always been a whining little bitch, and he knew it. He probably got fed up and that’s why he ditched you.”

Noct’s fingers curled as his hands tightened into fists. “Don’t you _dare_ speak about Ignis that way,” he growled threateningly.

“Or you’ll _what?”_ Gladio returned, stepping so close his chest almost butted into Noct’s. He towered a foot over the boy as their eyes met, both pairs ignited with fury. When the prince didn’t respond to his taunts, Gladio couldn’t resist taking another jab. “Ignis took his wallet but left his phone behind. He didn’t even tell you goodbye. Does that sound like someone who gives a damn about you, or like someone who’s fed up with your shit and just wants to be rid of you?”

That did it. Noct’s lips drew back in a snarl as he swung his arm, slamming his fist into Gladio’s side so hard he forced the brute a step back. Without hesitation, Gladio returned the blow, aiming his fist squarely at Noct’s jaw. The prince’s head snapped back and he tasted his own blood.

“You guys!” Prompto scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering. “Cut it out!”

Next Noctis lunged at Gladio with his full weight, catching him around the waist in an attempt to take him down. He only managed to shove the ox of a man back a few steps, then Gladio started pounding blows into both the prince’s sides, knocking the wind out of him. That was when Noct got a mouthful of Gladio’s T-shirt between his teeth and bit down so hard in the meaty section of his side between his hip and ribcage, the blood he tasted next was not his own.

The titan went down like a dump truck cutting a corner too sharply and tipping over with its entire haul in tow. Prompto barely dodged out of the way in time to save himself from becoming part of the fray. They rolled across the dirt, limbs flailing as both men fought to get the best of the other.

“Noct! Gladio!” Prompto’s voice cracked as he screamed at them. “Stop it! Iggy wouldn’t want this.” He fell to his knees, sobbing. “Ignis wouldn’t stand for this. You know he wouldn’t approve, so why are you two fighting?”

The sounds of his cries brought the other men out of their tornado of fury. Noct rolled off of Gladio and got to his feet, dusting the dirt off his clothes. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and it came away bloody.

Gladio was a little stunned from a good hit Noct had landed on his head, but finally managed to stagger into a standing position. He gripped his skull with both hands as the sky spun around them.

Prompto wiped his tears away with a terse movement and tried to quieten his sobs. Now that he finally had the other men’s attention, he was going to tell them exactly what was on his mind for a change.

“Ignis wouldn’t like us arguing like this. Noct,” he said, turning on the prince, “he wouldn’t like you sulking, either, okay?”

Noct’s eyes were glittering and he looked away, but after a second he nodded his agreement.

“Gladio—Noct is right,” Prompto said as the larger man shuffled back to the fire with an already blackening eye. “Ignis didn’t just walk out on us, okay? He wouldn’t. He…couldn’t. I can’t believe that, I just…can’t.”

When Prompto’s eyes welled up, so did Gladio’s. He crouched down and put his arms around the small blond to comfort him. “Hey… Hey, buddy. I didn’t mean it. I was just shooting my mouth off, looking for someone to point a finger at.” He looked up at Noct. “I was just looking for somebody to blame. I…I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Noct said, his voice sounding strained as he struggled to control his own emotions. “Me, too.”

 

Things were different the next day. They could all feel it. The tension of the last several months had been swept away and the bad energy had dissipated like the sky clearing after a hard rain. All three men had a hand in making breakfast instead of leaving the burden to fall onto Gladio’s shoulders, each sharing their meager cooking skills to put together something a little better than what they’d grown accustomed to eating. Prompto took it upon himself to clean up this time while Noct helped Gladio break down the tent. They worked together to finish packing up their gear, then once everything was loaded up into the car, Noct offered to drive.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Gladio told the prince with a grin that made his cracked lip sting.

“All right,” Noctis shrugged, “but…just let me know if you need a break.” The prince put his hand on Prompto’s shoulder to stop him from climbing into the backseat. “Hey, Prompto—how about some music?”

The blond beamed so brightly his freckled cheeks hurt for the next hour.

 

They had been on the road for the entire morning and were well away from civilization when the hum of a motor, rapidly increasing in volume, drowned out the CD Prompto had selected for the ride.

The waiflike technophile unfastened his seatbelt and squirmed around in his chair, climbing onto his knees as he scouted the airspace behind the Regalia. It didn’t take long to spot the dark object in the distance, or to notice how quickly it was gaining on them.

Prompto pointed at the Imperial ship in warning. “Guys! Imperials, behind us!”

“They aren’t the only ones!” Gladio called. He grabbed the back of Prompto’s jacket and hauled him back down from his perch, holding the boy tightly to his side with his arm protectively cradling his blond head as he swerved to dodge an incoming projectile. There was an explosion at the rear of the Regalia, so close Noct could feel its heat. “Hold on!” Gladio shouted gruffly. “We’re going to have to pull over before they pummel us with missiles!”

The car skidded to a halt that left dark tire tracks scorching the pavement. They were surrounded, and the only way out was to fight.

Prince Noctis was the first one out of the car. The airship behind them was already hovering, and out of its cavernous mouth leaped one of the Empire’s deadliest machines, a walking nightmare that was as tall as a house and weaponized with rockets. Noct knew the best way to take one out was to topple it, so without hesitation he warp-struck for one of its legs.

Gladio and Prompto scurried from the car and made for the second ship that had opted for a frontal assault. It dropped a dozen or more Magitek Troopers from the sky before taking off just as suddenly as it had arrived. They had done this enough times before they didn’t need to discuss the plan before charging in: Prompto would barrage the bioengineered soldiers with ballistics while Gladio got up close and personal, offering them a taste of his steel.

“I got your back, big guy!” Prompto declared, targeting the first M.T. that made a move for Gladio’s unguarded rear while the larger man was striking down a bionic soldier with a heavy blow from his greatsword.

For his part, Noct had made short work of the giant construct and put an end to its plague of projectiles. But the machine hadn’t shown up without bringing a few friends. The prince glanced back over his shoulder to see if help was coming, but Gladio and Prompto had their hands full. So he pulled the pin on a flare grenade and threw it at the cluster of M.T.s preparing to rush him, then warp-struck over to the others.

“Incoming!” Noctis screamed out in warning.

Gladio raised his shield and grabbed Noct’s wrist, pulling him down behind the metal plate as they fell to their knees. Prompto dove to their position, ripping the knees of his black jeans as he skidded across the pavement. He covered his ears and felt Gladio’s arm wrap around him, pulling the three of them into a tight formation. Less than a second later, an explosion blasted bits of armor and body parts all over the makeshift battleground. But they weren’t done yet.

“We’ve got company!” Gladio cautioned as they rose from the ground, shielding his eyes from the sun as two more black ships appeared on the horizon.

“Aw, man…” Prompto licked his lips worriedly. “I’ve never seen so many ships in one place before!”

“Got any more of those flare bombs?” Gladio shouted to Noct over the roar of the ship engines.

Noct squinted as the wind from the ships kicked up dust into his eyes. “They’re too close; I can’t risk hitting one of you!”

“All right, then,” Gladio said. He was grinning. “We do this the hard way.”

“Something tells me that’s what you’d prefer.” Noct returned the smile, then warped out.

Gladio met the onslaught of M.T.s coming his way with the strength of a cyclone, swinging his mighty sword with expert precision to deal maximum damage. Prompto tried to keep his eyes on the other man, but had his own problems; unlike the prince, who had the gods-given ability to dodge the spray of bullets aimed his way, Prompto had to roll for cover whenever an M.T. turned its rifle in his direction. At some point he heard Gladio call out to him, something about “sticking together,” but Prompto didn’t have Gladio’s shield, either, and had to back off and take up a position behind the Regalia alone.

Noct was being encircled by at least seven M.T.s bearing blades. The prince had so little room to move, the next time a sword sliced the air in front of him, it sliced open his T-shirt and missed his skin only by a hair. “…Could use a little help, right about now,” Noct grimaced, wishing the gods that protected him were watching. But he didn’t feel their presence right now, and he couldn’t call upon them for aid when they weren’t listening. At least his ancestors were there for him. Drawing a breath, Noct released the power of the Armiger. The swords of the kings before him heeded his call, granting him inhuman strength and speed as they formed a protective shield around him. But he and Gladio were moving farther and farther apart on the battlefield.

Gladio paused only long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow, and only because the salt was stinging his eyes. He trained twice every day, but even he was panting for breath at this point. Two ships had been challenging enough to manage—but four?!

Still, he was making at least some progress, he thought. There were more M.T.s on the road than standing, at least where he was fighting. But he had lost sight of Prompto and Noctis and needed to get back. If only Ignis were here, giving the orders. They had taken him for granted, always expecting he would call out the command to regroup so they could find each other.

There were still two or three M.T.s ahead of him, farther down the road, but it was more important that he get back and check on the others. Gladio turned and then stopped, finding an M.T. directly at his back. For just an instant his old temper flared; where the hell was Prompto, anyway? But then he froze in shock when he realized this M.T. was different—he recognized it.

Beneath the iron helmet, the face was the same as he remembered, even with the olive pallor of his skin and the fact that his glowing red eyes weren’t looking out at him from behind a pair of glasses. He recognized the angular jawline and the strong chin, the shapes of his nose and mouth…

Gladio’s jaw dropped and the end of his sword lowered to the ground, his hand going slack around its hilt, as he stared at the creature in abject horror. “Iggy?!”

The M.T. raised its arm, blade held aloft, but then it stopped. Paused. Considered. Its forehead creased with confusion. Then its inhuman eyes widened with recognition.

For a long moment they stared at one another in disbelief. The M.T.’s eyes dimmed, their red, menacing lasers becoming a faint glow of despair. Then it spoke with a voice that was not Ignis’s, but a metallic, hollow sound that rose from its chest cavity and not its unmoving mouth with its soulless, permanent smile.

Its request was simple and plain, but it caused Gladio more pain and sorrow than anything ever asked of him before.

Ignis looked down at Gladio and pleaded, “Kill me.”

 

Noct finally got Prompto in his sights and warped over to where the boy was crouched behind the hood of the Regalia, bleeding badly from where a bullet had struck his arm and blown through the other side.

“Here!” Noct yelled, drawing a potion out of his jacket pocket and forcing it into Prompto’s limp hand. He wrapped his fingers around the blond boy’s and squeezed hard until the small bottle burst and sewed up the wound on Prompto’s bicep to a tolerable degree.

“N…Noct…” Prompto groaned, lifting a hand to gesture as he struggled to keep upright.

Noctis followed the direction of Prompto’s point. He gasped when he saw a ring of M.T.s circling around Gladio, closing in on their target. And Gladio was just standing there, his greatsword loose in his grip as he stared up at one particular M.T. and…talked with it?

“What the hell’s he doing?!” Noct growled. His gaze zoned in on the bionic that held Gladio’s attention as he tried to make sense of the scene unfolding before him. Then all at once he understood.

It had only been three months, but there were times when Noctis thought he could no longer recall Ignis’s face. Three months could feel like an eternity when you had no sense of closure, no answers to the questions that consumed your thoughts, day and night. Why had Ignis left them? Where had he gone? Was he okay, was he even still alive? What would he say to him if he had the chance to speak to him again? Was there anything he could have said or done to change his mind? Had he even _wanted_ to leave them, or was something keeping them apart?

Seeing Ignis standing there now in the mechanized suit of armor, Noct finally had all the answers he’d been searching for. Ignis hadn’t walked out on them—he’d been taken against his will. He hadn’t wanted space or solitude; he’d wanted to do his duty, as Noct’s guardian and as his friend, but he’d been kept from it by their enemies. He hadn’t abandoned them at all!

The prince had only one thought on his mind now, and that was rescuing his friends. The M.T.s were pressing in on Gladio and Ignis, and he knew he had to save them. He could tell Gladio’s strength was returning as the man’s grip tightened around the hilt of his blade and he began to lift it. Then Noct realized who he was aiming for. “Wait!” Noct screamed. “Gladio! Nooo!”

 

Gladio tried to process what Ignis was asking him to do. Kill him? Kill his friend?

But he thought he understood. M.T.s weren’t human. Maybe Ignis was still in there somewhere, but on the outside he had changed into something else, an amalgamation of biological man and automated machine that left no room for humanity. They both knew it, and no matter how much this was going to hurt, there was only one thing to be done.

Gladio took his greatsword in both hands and lifted it over his head with an agonized roar. But he had wasted too much time thinking his decision through and had lost his chance.

Before Gladio could strike Ignis down with his own sword, another ran him through from behind.

Gladio’s back arched at the force of the thrust. The blade of an M.T.’s katana was sticking straight out of his abdomen, and as Gladio’s chin fell to rest against his chest he could see the crimson of his life force spilling out.

Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard Noct calling his name. It gave him the strength he needed for just one final act, and despite being impaled on an M.T.’s sword, Gladio managed to heft his own one last time and to force it through Ignis’s chest.

Gladio dropped to his knees as the M.T. behind him struggled to retract its blade from his back. He didn’t let go of his greatsword until he had dragged Ignis down with him. Man and machine took each other in arms. Electricity crackled as the machine’s circuits shorted out. Sparks ignited into flames that flickered along the circuitry on the front of Ignis’s former ribcage, only to be doused by a black fluid that started leaking around the lesion Gladio’s sword had opened on his chest cavity. Their eyes met with understanding and dimmed as one.

 

Prompto forced himself to his feet. He was sure his ankle was at least twisted, if not fractured, but he staggered after Noct as the prince falteringly warped down the road toward the gruesome scene of their friends’ massacre.

“Noct!” he shouted, running as fast as he could. Fortunately, the prince was so distraught he couldn’t see where he was going through his tears, and his warp-strikes fell far short of where Gladio and Ignis had fallen. Prompto finally reached him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Noct, let’s get out of here!”

“Let me go!” Noct shrieked, fighting Prompto off. “That’s Ignis! Can’t you see? I have to get to Ignis!”

“Noct…stop fighting me!” Prompto clenched his jaw and struck Noctis on the side of his head with the butt of his pistol. He hadn’t meant to hurt him, but Noct was so stunned he stopped struggling long enough for him to explain. “We’re too late. They’re…they’re gone, Noct. Gladio and Ignis…they’re gone.”

“No…” Noct wailed with heartsickness. He reached out toward Ignis and Gladio, his arm flailing helplessly as it grasped at empty air. “No, no, no, nonono…”

Prompto’s vision blurred with tears as he gripped the prince’s shoulders, holding him in place. The M.T.s had noticed them and he could tell they were gearing up to charge.

“We gotta get outta here, Noct,” he cried with desperate urgency. “If we don’t, we’ll be…” He couldn’t say the words. He couldn’t say they might die, just like their friends.

Noct stopped struggling. He gripped Prompto’s wrists tightly, squeezing them for support as he took one final look at the two lifeless forms slumped together on the pavement.

“Come on,” Prompto murmured quietly, taking a step away. “Noct, it’s time to let go.”

Together they turned their backs on the M.T.s and raced to the Regalia. They jumped into the car without bothering about the doors, diving into their seats. Noct turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. He shifted the gear into drive and stomped his boot down on the gas pedal. Prompto knelt on his seat and raised his firearm, taking aim.

“Get them,” Noct ordered, his tone tinged with fury and pain.

Helmets rolled across the concrete as skull after skull exploded. Prompto blinked away his tears and refused to allow his shots to be blinded by his grief. The M.T.s sprayed bullets toward the Regalia, but they fell one by one as Prompto let his pistol claim vengeance for what the Empire had done to their family.

This wasn’t the end. There were just two of them now, but they would be inseparable, unstoppable. They would make Niflheim pay for this. They wouldn’t rest until every last M.T. had been set free and the Empire destroyed.


End file.
